Not Far to Go, Part Three
by Dance With Me Yo
Summary: Parker wants to ask Eliot annoying questions, and Eliot just wants to get her drunk. Eliot/Parker, smut. Third in a series of E/P.


A/N: I have an infatuation for the hitter and the thief - especially together. I love Hardison to death, just not with Parker. I've got about five ideas lined up for the series, each one being posted as a oneshot. So here goes.

_Not Far to Go _Series

One thing always leads to another. Some people aren't meant to be; others just click, whether they want to or not. Parker didn't have far to go to find herself in Eliot's arms - and according to Eliot, she doesn't have far to go to reach a new level of insanity.

A somewhat smutty series on my favorite non-canon Leverage couple.

**Part Three: Shot for Shot**

Eliot just wanted this job to be over.

They were conning Angie Winters, an adoption agent working in the Chicago area. She loaded middle-class promising young couples with adoption fees, clauses, and red tape, then declared the couple unsuitable for parenting. Needless to say, the couples never got a dime back, and there was absolutely nothing wrong enough with them to deny them a child. No one had been able to make a case against Winters stick, though.

The victims ended up dropping the charges every time. Winters excelled in blackmail and manipulation, as well as hired-goon endorsed threats. The couples she chose for her scam weren't well-off by any means, disabling them from affording to employ a decent lawyer for the time necessary to take down someone with Winters' status.

Winters was conning good, hardworking people out of their life savings with the promise of a family they were unable to create, and preventing them from retaliating.

It didn't sit well with the team, and when Calvin and Larissa Norton brought this particular job to them it hadn't been difficult to sum up the energy to take the bitch down.

"How does Winters manage to get away with this over and over?" Sophie had frowned, perplexed.

Nate shifted in his chair, fingers absently flipping through the content of the mark's folder. "She does legitimate adoptions, but all paperwork and fees are fabricated in the cases of her victims. She doesn't use proper adoption forms or processes, so there's no _real_ proof of what she does. And once the couple begins to realize and react, Winters threatens that she has the authority to prevent them from ever being able to adopt if they take action against her. So all we need is evidence of her threatening Jake and Taryn," he nodded towards Eliot and Parker, "and we've got her."

So they were conning a con artist.

And that was how Eliot and Parker ended up playing Jake and Taryn Everett - a carpenter and daycare teacher, unable to have children of their own and looking to adopt. The two of them had argued that there was no way in hell they looked _parental,_ but Nate had dismissed their protests quickly.

"Sophie and I aren't the right age to be a couple struggling to have a baby ("What is _that_ supposed to mean?" the grifter had hissed), and we need Hardison on the outside. Besides, Parker's got that fertile, young blonde look going for her."

Parker grimaced around a mouthful of cereal.

Eliot crossed his arms over his broad chest and narrowed his eyes at their leader.

"Are you sayin' I look _sterile_?"

Hardison snickered from behind his laptop.

"Shut up," Eliot growled in his direction, blue eyes never leaving Nate's face.

"No," said Nate, stepping back from the table and holding up his thumbs and index fingers to create a frame in his line of vision. The picture was of Parker frozen with a spoonful of cereal to her mouth (as if Nate were taking a real picture) and Eliot scowling. "You just look so… _couple_-like."

Nate let his hands drop to his sides after a moment and gave Eliot a significant look.

Eliot met his gaze, unfaltering, knowing that if he so much as glanced at Hardison to gauge his reaction Nate's suspicions would be confirmed.

When Parker had left the site of the last job with a supposedly injured ankle, walking with an atrocious fake limp, Eliot knew there would be some scrutiny from the more observant members of the team.

But once again, he and Parker basically acted like nothing had happened, again. Basically.

They hadn't so much as high-fived in the ways of physical contact since their last romp, but that didn't mean that Nate couldn't pick up on the tension between them.

Sophie noticed as well, but she, for once, was keeping her mouth shut. Eliot wasn't sure if it was out of respect, fear, or consideration.

Nate looked away first, apparently satisfied with Eliot's silence and refusal to acknowledge his prodding.

"Alright. Let's steal-"

"If you say a baby, I'm done," interrupted Parker.

* * *

The first stages of the job had gone well (Eliot believed it had everything to do with Parker's conservative clothing, fit for a daycare-working-wannabe-mother.) Both of them had played their parts, but Parker's lack of tact and constant stressing that Eliot was unable to knock her up was getting on the hitter's nerves.

There was nothing wrong with him down there. At all.

Nothing.

Hell, he could have a kid or two he didn't even know about. (Although he sincerely doubted that, and hoped that wasn't the case.)

So as Hardison and Nate were prepping the final stages of the con (the remainder consisted of getting the actual footage of her threatening Eliot and Parker, humiliating and ruining Winters as a result), the remainder of the team wandered down the street for dinner, intent on taking the night off properly.

Not much longer after consuming her food, Sophie promptly (and suspiciously) announced that she was rather worn out, and planned on retiring to the hotel for a long, relaxing bubble bath.

"I bet that means she's going to masturbate," Parker mused as the grifter exited the casual bar they were seated in.

Eliot choked on his beer, spluttering liquid down his chin. "Jesus, Parker," he snapped as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. He looked at her like she was more nuts than usual.

"What?" she asked, puzzled. She shifted on her barstool to face him.

Eliot hadn't even realized they were alone. Without earbuds.

Talking about masturbation.

"You cant just… _say_ shit like that!" He made some exasperated hand gestures that usually only Hardison would employ.

A slow smile spread over Parker's face, and she traced the top of her beer bottle. "Why? Does it make you _uncomfortable-" _she said the word like she had no comprehension of how it actually felt, "-to think about Sophie masturbating?"

Her smile only grew as Eliot's eyes widened, then narrowed at her. He shook his head, unable to respond verbally.

"Oooh, I get it. You _like_ thinking of Sophie-"

"Shut up, Parker."

He seemed to be telling people to shut up a lot lately. Goddamn annoying team.

Eliot tried to look menacing, but the faint blush on his cheeks and neck ruined the effect.

"Don't be embarrassed, Eliot," Parker said, waving her hand to show it was no big deal and take a drink of her beer. "We all do it." The thief frowned, then added, "Masturbate, I mean. Not think about Sophie masturbating." She looked thoughtful. "Well, except Nate. He might do that. We could ask him-"

Eliot slammed the rest of his beer, motioning to the pretty redheaded bartender. "Tequila. _Good_ tequila," he stressed, automatically returning her flirty smile.

Parker scowled.

"Do you think about me masturbating, Eliot?"

The bartender overheard and ended up pouring a shot on the bar's surface as she stared in astonishment at the thief.

Eliot politely pushed the woman's hand an inch to the left so the stream of liquor hit its target. "Keep 'em comin'," he told her, turning back to his blonde companion.

"Drink with me."

It was a command, something both knew she wouldn't refuse due to the tone in his voice. Persuasive, strong, smooth in a way that made you want to please the speaker.

She held up her beer in response, but Eliot shook his head and slid a shot glass full of amber liquid towards her.

"Keep up with me and I'll answer all of your terribly inappropriate questions. Promise."

Without the slightest hesitation, Parker shrugged and downed the remainder of the first (and last) beer. Eliot couldn't help but respect that, watching the smooth column of her neck as she drank.

They took the shot together, wincing at the taste.

Eliot watched Parker's reaction, trying to judge whether or not she'd be up for more.

"Ugh," the thief rasped. She let out an unladylike burp and patted her chest. "Why would anyone willingly drink that?"

Eliot chuckled, tossed his hair back (solely for Parker's benefit), and swallowed another shot. "No one's pouring it down your throat, darlin'."

She grimaced, but managed to take another shot.

"So." Parker glanced out the window, watching the few people outside walk under the streetlights. "Answer my question."

"What question?" he asked gruffly. Eliot severely hoped she wouldn't remember.

Parker sighed. "Do you think about me masturbating?"

She leaned forward onto the polished surface of the bar, sleeves of her jacket riding up, head turned towards him eagerly.

"No."

But, fuck, he had said it weird.

"Are you lying to me?" Parker arched an eyebrow, studying his face.

Eliot wanted to respond that he had agreed to answer her questions, not necessarily be honest. But he had answered truthfully.

"Not lyin'." He shook his head, meeting her gaze steadily. Seemed to be doing that a lot lately, too.

The thief cocked her head even further to the side, then a thought flashed across her features. "Do you think about me when _you_ do it?"

Eliot grabbed two more shots and slid one to Parker. In unison, they drank them.

"I have."

Suddenly the oak in front of him was fascinating.

But Parker merely let out a relieved chuckle. "Good. I've been thinking about you lately," she admitted with a little shrug, as it that made everything alright.

Eliot actually snorted at her words. She couldn't admit her feelings for someone, but she had no qualms in blatantly stating to a person that she had thought about them sexually while she finger fucked herself?

Typical Parker.

The hitter looked up from the bar to notice that her cheeks were already flushed from the liquor, noticeable with her pallor. A satisfied smile graced his lips at the sight.

"Would you like to watch?"

And he was back to spluttering, smile vanishing.

"Shot," he commanded.

"Answer," she demanded, drink clutched in her hand.

_Who wouldn't? _he thought, but said, "Depends." The tequila slid easily down his throat.

Parker looked like she was about to protest, but after a moment accepted his response and followed his example, scrunching her face at the taste.

The strange looks the bartender was giving them did not go unnoticed by Eliot. She glanced at them in between serving the other patrons, probably wondering what in the hell kind of people came to a bar to discuss… well, all the dumb shit they were discussing.

He didn't really give a flying fuck, as long as the shots kept coming with such promptness.

"One more, then you get a turn," Parker spoke as if she was rewarding Eliot.

"Oh, _I_ get a turn?"

The sarcasm was wasted on the thief as she swiveled (in a rather unstable manner) on her barstool, biting her lip in contemplation.

"How often do you do it?"

_Still_ on that subject? Christ.

The hitter heaved a heavy sigh. "Um… once, maybe twice a week."

The team sometimes got in the way of him going out and getting play other than his own.

"That's it?" Parker swiveled especially hard on the stool, smacking her leg onto his in the process. Eliot didn't think she even noticed.

"You must be defective."

He was _so _fed up with her talking shit about his penis - especially after all it'd done for her lately. (Well twice, but still.)

Feeling about ready to grab her head and force her to deep throat him right there _just to prove a point_, Eliot ground out, "I ain't _defective_, Parker." He whispered furiously. "I'm just… busy."

The blonde waved her hand dismissively, almost hitting herself in the eye. "How? You hardly ever sleep. Where does all your time go?"

"That's another question," he said, still growling, and slid another shot to her.

"So? Answer it." She downed the shot.

Eliot continued glaring.

"Please, Eliot. Pleeease."

He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "I read. Work out. Cook. Watch sports."

Put like that, it simply seemed like he was listing off things most men do. Was he really that boring?

Wait, of course he wasn't boring. Look at his _job _for Christ's sake!

How did Parker make him think like this? All backwards and self-doubting and second-guessing and just _fuck._

The annoyance in question flashed a brilliant smile, the color on her cheeks more intense than before, her smile a little too vibrant.

"Your turn."

Still scowling, Eliot struggled for a good question through the faint - but ever growing - fog in his mind.

"How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

Parker shrugged and answered, "Twenty-one."

Eliot damned her lack of humility.

The questions (and thus, the shots) came quicker now, each trying to outdo and embarrass the other. The filter Eliot utilized on a daily basis, as most people do, to prevent himself from saying the wrong thing, slipped away the more he drank, and the more he conversed with Parker. It was impossible to attempt a conventional conversation with the girl who had no shame and no sense of privacy or mortification.

Occasionally an answer would surprise the inquirer, and a brief explanation would be necessary.

Like when Parker admitted, yes, she would watch Nate and Sophie have sex without their knowledge, but only so that she could picture Nate making those faces while she listened to him drone on during meetings.

"Ever used handcuffs?"

Eliot shuddered. "No. I like…"

"Being in control?" Parker finished knowingly, swinging one foot across her teammate's lap, still fairly graceful despite her level of intoxication. Absentmindedly, Eliot began rubbing her calf through her boots and jeans.

"Ever called out the wrong name?" His own query made him smiled fondly at the memory of some random girl (who's correct name he still couldn't remember) that possessed one hell of a left hook. He'd taken quite a few punches in his life, but never with his dick buried inside the one doing the hitting.

Eyes closed, Parker hummed in pleasure at Eliot's affectionate touch and leaned back on her stool, stretching languidly. "Nope. Usually didn't stick around long enough to learn their names."

The statement, spoken with such unfaltering nonchalance, took him aback for a moment, causing him to cease his ministrations on her leg. Parker made a noise of protest and he resumed his work, kneading her muscles through the leather.

When he thought about her response, it began to make sense to his alcohol-addled brain.

Parker had been close to very few people in her life, and the men she did chose to spend a night with were just that - a way to spend a night.

Unable to resist, he imagined a younger, more independent Parker fucking a guy and immediately grabbing her clothes and jumping out of the window or some shit. It brought a smile to his face, which stayed there until he abruptly realized he was being laughed at.

The thief was clutching the bar with one hand, her other pointing at him. "You were just staring… at nothing… with this _look_ on your face…" Parker tried to mimic the look, which only made her laugh harder at her inability to convey the correct expression. She threw her blonde head back in laughter, hard enough to set her off balance. She started slipping off of the stool, but Eliot still had her leg. She ended up dangling, arched backwards over her stool, hair scraping the grimy bar floor.

"Eliot," she rasped in between breaths and giggles, "Eliot, _help_."

She sounded absolutely lost, which amused the hitter even further.

"Come on," he chuckled, putting her leg down to the floor carefully, then grabbing her arms and pulling her upright.

Finally aligned with the world, Parker's eyes blurred out of focus and the room spun away from her.

"Whoa." she breathed, her eyes darting back and forth, trying to cease the unwanted motion.

Eliot slapped enough money on the bar and stood up, ignoring the slight spinning and trying to look Parker in the eye. "Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk," Parker mumbled, practically scoffing at the question. "I'm… awesome."

The thief stood (or attempted to) and promptly caught her foot within the bars of Eliot's vacated stool.

"Oomph," the hitter grunted as he caught her under the arms, heaving her back up into the position the sober like to call "normal". She swayed on the spot, eyes focused somewhere to the right of her teammate.

"See…? Awesome."

"Oh, _totally._" Eliot rolled his eyes as she closed her own to fend off the whirling of the room around her. "Want me to carry you?"

Parker's gray-blue eyes snapped open at the question. "No," she said, shaking her head (worst idea ever), "Piggyback ride."

"_What?"_

"Piggyback ride, nooooow," she whined, holding her arms out and motioning for Eliot to turn around.

"Hell no."

"Elioooot-"

"_No."_

"Why _not?"_

"It's degrading."

"You ride horses. Does that degrade them?"

"They're _animals._"

"So are you… ya big, sexy, _animal._"

She was utterly serious. The thief's eyes were closed again as she stood, arms remaining outstretched, swaying on her feet, waiting for him to give in.

"Goddammit." Eliot turned around. "Get on."

The antithesis of graceful, Parker stumbled into him, attempting to climb his back like a damn tree (skyscraper was more her style).

Finally Eliot managed to get one of her legs settled above his hip, then the other. She crushed her chest to his back and wrapped her arms around his neck, the warmth of her nearly stifling.

The bartender looked thrilled to see them go, so Eliot winked at her as they left - just to be a dick - and the two of them tottered onto the sidewalk outside.

Of fucking course there wasn't a taxi to be found at that hour, leaving Eliot with his piggyback-demanding burden for the next four blocks to the hotel. Parker was bouncing with every step, giggling at the feeling that it produced in her head.

Nate chose to call him at that moment.

"Fuck," Eliot hissed. He didn't have a free hand to answer his phone since they were clamped tightly around Parker's thighs, the thief unable to stay on his back with her own strength at this point. "Parker?"

"Hmm?" She giggled into his hair.

"Grab my phone, it's in my-"

But he hadn't really needed to bother. The blonde thief already had it out of his pocket.

_Always a professional, _he mused wryly.

"Hel-_lo,_" Parker answered, singsong.

_'__Where are you? And why are you answering Eliot's phone?' _

"Parker, give me my phone. No, I can't use my hands. No, don't drop it! Hold it up to my ear. There."

'_Eliot. What are you doing?' Where are you?'_

Nate seemed pretty pissed, and Eliot had a feeling he wasn't going to cheer up when he learned that two of his teammates did exactly what he wished he could have done that evening, instead being stuck in a hotel room with Hardison _working_.

"Well, we're walking back to the hotel…"

"Eliot is giving me a piggyback ride!" Parker whispered into the phone, acting as if she were sharing classified information.

"Shut up, Par-" Nate heard the hitter's voice suddenly cut off into wheezing, unable to form words. He was about to worry when he heard a raspy Eliot say, "You're choking me, Park-ER."

"Oh. Sorry."

'_Is she drunk?'_

"What? No… pssh, of course not…"

'_Are you drunk, Eliot?'_

"Parker's a mess," the hitter said instead of answering, attempting to divert the attention away from himself and onto the blonde clinging haphazardly to his back.

"Hey!" She pulled the phone away from Eliot's ear and mouth, bringing it up to her own face. "I am not! I am…"

Parker seemed to struggle with an adjective other than drunk, so Eliot helped her. "Awesome?" he supplied with a grin.

"Yes. Awesome."

She hung up without so much as a goodbye to Nate, already forgetting what she was doing on the phone, anyway. Slipping the phone back into Eliot's pocket, Parker allowed her hand to stray (about as stealthily as a galloping rhinoceros) further into the material of his pants, grabbing his cock. What she meant to be as light teasing was turning out to be more of a drunk, fevered hand job on the Chicago sidewalk.

Eliot's eyes rolled back in his head, and he groaned inwardly at not have a free hand to swat her away from his groin.

Not that he'd do it.

The drunken duo made it up to the doorway of Parker's hotel room without being arrested for public drunkenness or lewd behavior.

Parker relinquished her hold on Eliot's crotch and chest, dropping from her perch to stumble slightly on the horrendous patterned carpet.

"Room key?" he asked shortly, struggling through the haze of intoxication and the beginning stages of lust.

The thief blinked blearily at him for a moment before comprehension dawned on her.

"Um…" She slid her hand across the front of her jacket, passing over her breasts in the process, searching for the plastic rectangle.

Eliot fidgeted - an impatient and useless gesture that never surfaced during sobriety - as he carefully watched her hands.

But the thief remained distracted by the mystery of the room key. Parker unzipped the thin black coat, carelessly dropping it onto the floor. Only a plain gray tank top remained.

The hitter's gaze raked over her form, amazed that she invoked such a strong reaction from him each time she began to undress.

Her nimble hands continued their alleged search, slipping under the thin straps of her shirt and pushing them down her smooth shoulders.

Eliot, finally unfreezing from his drunken haze, realized that Parker was no longer looking for the room key.

No, but she was still fucking with him. And he wasn't going to let it work this time.

The thief undid the top button on her dark jeans, immediately sliding her hand beneath the waistband.

Refusing to be distracted by the scintillating act, Eliot darted forward, swiftly plucking the room key from the pocket of Parker's jeans - the one place she hadn't put on a show of looking in. He opened the door and grabbed the blonde by her arm, throwing her into the room. The door closed behind them, shrouding them in the semi-darkness, permeated by the faint light left on from the bathroom.

Parker gasped at the look in Eliot's eyes; unbridled desire, latticed with tendencies to control, push, _force._

It only excited her in her current state. Any and all fear or trepidation was drowned by the liquor, leaving her to be spurred on by passion alone.

"Get on the bed."

She couldn't argue with him.

Parker stumbled to the bed awkwardly, dark eyes never leaving Eliot's shadowed face. She climbed onto the bedspread, kneeling, waiting for another instruction.

Cocking his head, Eliot watched the thief for any unauthorized actions. She was itching to out her hand back down her still unfastened jeans, her fingers fisted in the fabric of the blanket beneath her, drunken gaze locked on the man before her. He crawled onto the bed, moving towards the blonde gracefully, predatory. He paused a few inches from her, allowing his liquor tinted breath to tickle her face.

"Undress."

Numb fingers fumbled, removed jeans, a tank top, plain black panties. Left naked under his hungry gaze, Parker glowed in the dim light, reveling in the sensation, nearly trembling at the anticipation.

"Earlier, when you asked if I'd like to see you masturbate, and I said it depends... Well these are the right circumstances." Eliot was impressed at how even, calm his voice sounded.

The girl's hand drifted down her stomach, beneath her naval, sliding down to cup her own wet heat.

Eliot suppressed a moan, ignoring his hardening dick and focusing his fuzzy attention on the sight before him.

"Fuck yourself till you cum."

Parker's eyes close to slits at his words, fingers slipping around her clit, beginning a heated rhythm. She bit her lip, barely stifling a small moan as her right hand continued an act usually only done in private, her left clenching the bed beneath her.

"Don't hold back. I want you screaming by the time my dick's inside of you," whispered Eliot, removing his own shirt and jeans.

He didn't touch her; just watched as her nimble fingers slid within herself, palm grinding hard against her, smearing juices onto herself and the bed. The sight made his dick ache, throb with need, but he refused to pleasure himself in the slightest.

Besides, despite being drunk, he was afraid he'd explode within a minute.

"_Mmm, _ughn..." Parker's free hand was practically tearing the bed apart beneath her, frantically searching for something, anything to cling to - and that's when he decided he couldn't let her have _all_ the fun.

He slid down the bed, clad only in his underwear, positioning his face above her dripping entrance, eyes merely inches away as he watched her fingers work herself into a frenzy. Then he was pulling her hand away, burying his face into her already dripping core, the smell and the warmth flooding his senses and making him groan in response.

"Ughhh!" Parker gasped with shock, pleased at the intrusion, hands (one wet with her own essence, one dry) immediately tangling in his dark hair buried between her legs.

She tasted so Goddamn _good_, Eliot wondered if they could capture her taste and bottle it for sale. She squirmed beneath his hands, firmly pinning her hips to the bed, letting his tongue be the deepest penetration she received. He knew it was killing her; Parker was moaning and tugging and gasping and physically _begging _for his cock to be thrust into her tight pussy.

But Eliot pulled back a bit, sucking her lips between his teeth and pushing his thumb into her clit hard, shocking her.

"_Fuck_, Eliot!" she gasped out, rocketing her hips off the bed and nearly into his face, at complete disregard for his safety.

The hitter chuckled, hand splayed across her sweaty stomach. "That feel good, baby?"

The endearment slipped, fell, fucking _tumbled_ from his loose fucking drunk lips seconds before he realized he was even _speaking_.

"Mm-hmm," Parker whimpered in positive response. The room wasn't spinning as badly as before, but the consistent dizziness and muffled feeling of everything except _Eliot_ was a testament to how drunk she remained.

And then Eliot was naked and sitting up, kneeling on his haunches, and pulling her with him. Her body moved like jello, loose and willing, allowing him to position her over his legs, dripping above his tip. He paused, gently teasing her folds with his cock, moving her relaxed body in slight circles over him, clenching his teeth at the taunting sensation.

"Please," the thief ground out, eyes flying open in frustration.

"Please what?" His voice came out gruff, playing annoyance at her lack of vocal requests.

"Fuck me till I scream your name, fuck me harder than I've ever been before, fucking _fuck _me, Eliot..." She hissed, low and seductively, her eyes dark with desire and submission.

It made him even harder to see how she enjoyed being dominated. Being drunk had let down the few barriers Parker had sexually, and she seemed ready and willing for more.

So when he plunged inside of her welcoming pussy and scraped his teeth along the underside of her breast simultaneously, Parker dug her nails into his back and drew blood, screaming, "Fucking _harder_, _Goddammit!_"

His pace was sure to leave bruises on the backs of her thighs, sure to make her insides feel torn up and her walk to be completely fucking _off_ the next day, but he was rising to her challenge and fuck, it felt amazing.

Parker locked her hands below his neck, all premise of biting her lip and stifling her cries of pleasure lost as she succumbed to the overwhelming sense of being filled, pounded, fucked, penetrated deeper than ever before. Immediately she was grateful for the alcohol she had consumed, knowing that at any other instant her body would be truly feeling the punishment it was currently taking.

It had been well worth the terrible taste, that tequila.

She was sure Eliot's back torn to hell from her nails, his thrusts so short and hard it felt like she was riding a fucking jackhammer, holding on for dear life, refusing to let him buck her off. Because that's what it felt like; that Eliot's thrusting was like a fight, a fight to get her to accept more of him physically than her body could handle, and her body, weak and human as it was, was desperately attempting to squeeze him out, tighten her passage against his fucking brutal attack...

But the alcohol and the pleasure made it surreal, and astounding.

Eliot caught her nipple between his teeth, sucking furiously on the sensitive bud, slamming into her until her thighs tingled and itched from the gathering sweat and the friction, his hands scrambling down her ribs to cup her ass, jerking her small frame harder against his.

Their panting increased, eyes closed; her chest to his face, hands no longer holding but squeezing pulling fucking tearing at one another lest they fuck themselves apart and cease this maddening pleasure.

Parker didn't think she was even getting enough air to withstand the actions her body was performing, gasping and clutching Eliot to her, his head beneath her chin, his hair sticking to her face, slick with sweat. She felt increasingly dizzy, and a distant part of her wondered if she could be fucked into unconsciousness, but fuck, she didn't care because she was about to explode around him -

_"Parker,"_ Eliot ground out, slamming into her with a shudder.

Her thighs shook from the intensity of her following orgasm, tingling, pulsing and sweat-slicked on top of him, whimpering exhaustedly as her finish blackened her vision and made her slump forward, spent.

Eliot quickly rolled them to their sides, slipping out of her in the process. Panting bordering on asthmatic racked his lungs, and he drug a trembling hand through sweat-dampened locks, pushing the nuisance from his face. A quick, hazy glance to the left revealed Parker, breathing slowly beginning to even, apparantly in some sort of post-coital comatose state.

A tired grin forced Eliot's lips apart, knowing that the combination of alcohol and adrenaline had depleted the crazy girl's energy resources for the day - not to mention it was some ungodly hour in the morning.

He continued grinning, even as he knew she was going to feel like absolute shit in the morning, and even though it was mainly his fault.

Yes, he had somewhat convinced her to drink as much as she did that night.

And yes, he had also fucked her to the point of no recovery, well aware of the soreness tomorrow would bring.

But - and here was the kicker - he had proven his goddamn point that nothing, absolutely fucking _nothing_, was wrong with his dick.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are my bread and butter, lovelies - already started on part four. Thank you!


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